Package Deal
by AnvilAndy
Summary: JetsonsFuturama crossoverAfter losing his job at Spacely Sprockets for the 1,000,000th time, George lands a job at Planet Express delivering packages to some very questionable customers.


For those of you who are curious as to what would happen if those two popular sci-fi cartoons, "The Jetsons" and "Futurama" ever merged, this fanfic's for you.

Standard Disclaimer: I do not own any of the characters in either "The Jetsons" or "Futurama". The former are the trademarks of AOL-Time/Warner, Cartoon Network, and its sister station Boomerang, and are the creations of Joe Barbera and the late Bill Hanna, whereas the latter are the trademarks of 20th (or, in this case, 30th) Century Fox Film Corporation in association with the Curiosity Company, and are the creations of "Life in Hell/Simpsons" creator Matt Groening, respectively.

PACKAGE DEAL

A Jetsons/Futurama Crossover Fanfic by Anvil Andy

Mission Title Reads, "Go Eep-Ok-Ork-Ah-Ah Someplace ELSE, Loser!"

The Cartoon On the Monitor Is A Scene From The Very First "Jetsons" Episode Ever, "Rosey The Robot" (1962).

What started out as a typical day for George Jetson at Spacely Space-Age Sprockets, Inc. would turn out to be a day he'd never forget (although, like MOST days of his life, he wishes he could!). He was right in the middle of a Poker game with Spacely's company robot, Uniblab, and Rudi, the company computer, when, suddenly, without warning, Cosmo G. Spacely himself stormed into George's office!

"I'll see your five and raise you ten, Rudi!" George happily exclaimed in a care-free manner.

"Oooooooohhhhhhh, I don't think that's such a good ideaaaa, Georrrrrrrrrrrrge!"

Rudi tried to warn him.

"Who are YOU to tell me how to deal, Rudi?" George angrily questioned his mechanized co-worker. "I've been Space Poker Champ for five years running now!"

"Noooooooooo, Georrrrrrrrrrrrrrge," Rudi continued, "I mean, look behiiiiiiiiiiiind yoooooooooooooouuuuuuuuuuu!"

"Oh, no, I'm not falling for THAT old ruse again!" George exclaimed with a sly smile on his face. "Every time my back is turned, you steal all my micro-chips! Well, not THIS ti – " But, before George could finish, he felt a tapping on his shoulder.

"Hey, Buddy, can't you see we're in the middle of a GAME he – ", at which point, George's eyes and mouth began to widen in shock. "Ooba-Dooba! Mr. Spacely?"

"You were expecting the Space Count of Monte Cristo?" Spacely asked in his usual sarcastic manner.

"Now, sir, I can explain…" George began, but, as usual, with Spacely around, it was hard to get a word in edgewise.

"Our company's profits are sliding downhill," the midget ogre of a boss snarled to his most gifted – and frequently fired – employee, "and you think you can just spend company time gambling away the company's profits?"

"But – but…" George stammered.

"I don't want to hear another word out of you, Jetson!" Spacely glowered in his face. "However, I will give you one more chance; we've got a huge deadline to meet for Sprocket deliveries this afternoon, so I expect you to get the assembly line up and running by late this morning, or ELSE, YOU'RE OUT ON YOUR CAN! Do I make myself CLEAR, Jetson?"

"Loud and clear, sir!" George sighed, his eyes rolling as he did so.

Just then, Spacely's secretary, Miss Galaxy, walked in to inform him, "Sir, you have a 10:00 A.M. Space Poker match with Mr. Cogswell!"

"Be right in, Miss Galaxy!" Spacely exclaimed, then turned back to George.

"Remember what I told you, Jetson!" he angrily barked at him as he stormed out of the office.

As George wheeled his swivel chair towards the main Assembly Line, he complained to himself, "Why, that no-good money-grubbing Spacely! Always bantering about the company, when I've got a wife, two kids, a dog, and a highly expensive robot maid to support! Also, he's got some nerve complaining about ME gambling away company earnings, while HE could hardly beat Cogswell in a Space Poker match himself! Oh, well," he replied, pushing the "START" button up to full power. "It's a living!"

Unfortunately, however, George fell asleep at the switch at around this time – and I do mean, literally, at the switch! As he leaned back, comfortably, in his chair, his left foot accidentally flipped a switch marked, "FULL POWER TO THE MAX" and, suddenly, before long, sprockets went flying EVERYwhere!

Meanwhile, in his special Boss' Lounge, and contrary to what George had claimed, Spacely was actually coming up with a winning hand in his latest match with Cogswell! "Four Space Aces, read 'em and weep, Cogsy, my man!" he gloated ecstatically.

"Dumb luck, Spacely!" Cogswell jealously exclaimed. "Just pure, dumb – " But, before he could finish, a warning sounded over the company's P.A. System. "DANGER! DANGER! ASSEMBLY LINE OVERLOAD! WE REPEAT, ASSEMBLY LINE OVERLOAD! EVACUATE PREMISES IMMEDIATELY!"

"Assembly Line OVERLOAD? CONFOUND it!" Spacely sneered. "I told Jetson we had a big order to fill, but not THAT big!" At this point, he made haste to the limousine in his special Parking Spot, only to be flooded by TONS of sprockets!

The ruckus of the collapsing sprockets also arrested George's attention as he, too, was flooded by them. "Ooba-Dooba!" he exclaimed in horror for the second time today. "Dare I ask what ELSE can go wrong today?"

At exactly that point, a huge video screen lowered itself into George's face. As it turned on, an extreme close-up of Spacely's face shouted, "JETSON! REPORT TO MY PRIVATE PARKING SPACE, POST-HASTE!"

"I was right," George gulped, nervously tugging his shirt collar. "I shouldn't have dared to ask!"

Moments later, George arrived via transport tube #B-7. "You wanted to SEE me, Mr. Spacely?" he asked even more nervously.

"Not for LONG," Spacely raised his voice as loud as he could. "JETSON, YOU'RE FIRED!"

Almost immediately after he shouted this, humans and robots surrounded him with ticker-tape, balloons, a plaque, and a banner proclaiming, "SPACELY'S OFFICIAL 1,000,000TH FIRING OF GEORGE JETSON!", followed by a news reporter placing a microphone up to his mouth, asking, "Congratulations, Cosmo G. Spacely, on your one millionth firing of George Jetson! What are you going to do NEXT?"

"I'm going to Euro-Epcot Center!" he boasted.

"Oh, SURE," George brooded. "I get fired, and SPACELY gets rewarded for it! Some guys get ALL the breaks! NOW where'll I work?"

Cogswell, who couldn't help overhearing, offered to George, "You can come work for ME, m'boy!"

"FORGET it, Mr. Cogswell!" George defiantly exclaimed. "I'm desperate, but not THAT desperate!"

END CHAPTER ONE

TO BE CARTOONUED…

Up next: George goes job-hunting, and finds work at Planet Express! TRUST me, you AREN'T gonna wanna miss THIS one!.

Chapter Two

Meanwhile, at the Jetsons' Skypad Apartments in Orbit City, Rosey, their ever-loyal Robot Maid, was busy watering the Venus Flytrap, when, suddenly, the doorbell rang.

"Now who could THAT be at this early hour?" she wondered to herself. "It COULDN'T be Mr. J., unless he got FIRED again!"

As if on cue, George entered the tube to his apartment, slumped over in despair. As usual, the family dog, Astro, came running up to greet him with a hearty slurp.

"Good to see you, too, boy," George told him. "However, I don't know how to break this to you and the rest of the family, but – "

"George, Dear," Jane, his wife, began to ask. "What's wrong?"

"Yeah, Dad, and how come you're home EARLY?" his boy, Elroy, wanted to know. "Did Mr. Spacely get you out on your CAN again?"

"Elroy!" Jane snapped at him. "That's a TERRIBLE thing to say!"

"No, Jane," George nodded his head sadly. "It's quite all right. For once, Elroy is right on the money, or, should I say, lack, thereof."

"George!" Jane exclaimed in a horrified tone of voice. "Are you saying, Mr. Spacely…"

"…for the quite literal one millionth time, yes, I'm out on my can!"

"'Rat Rotten Rogre!" Astro remarked.

"Oh, Pop, how'll we make ends meet NOW?" George's daughter, Judy, bemoaned. "Next Friday's the big High-School Prom, and I can't afford a CORSAGE, much less a DRESS!"

"It'll be OK, everyone!" George tried his best to reassure his family. "I can, as usual, find a better-paying job! Until then, we'll have to make sacrifices!"

"Yeah, like the time Mrs. J's mother suggested sacrificing you to a volcano if you didn't come up with enough dough to support your family?" Rosey sarcastically asked.

"You know you can't rely on anything Jane's mother advises you on, Rosey!" George replied. "All her family values are set back to the Stone Age!"

"GEORGE!" Jane scolded.

"Never mind. This constant bickering is going nowhere! Elroy, could you please turn on the video news under 'classifieds' and see if there's an opening somewhere?" George asked.

"Right away, Dad!" Elroy more than happily obliged. With that, he pushed a button that lowered a video monitor with such menu selections as: HOROSCOPE, HEADLINES, SPORTS, GLOBAL, MARKETING, and CLASSIFIEDS.

George and his family perused the ads for quite some time until they found one that seemed appealing. "Interested in a future in Delivery Service? Apply for work at Planet Express, opening in New New York January 3000!"

"Oh, NO!" Jane exclaimed in horror yet again. "That's several YEARS from now!"

"Not to worry, Jane, Honey!" George brightened. "Elroy, do you still have your Time Machine Science Project from when we visited the Flintstones?"

"Sure, Dad, but I'm not exactly sure just HOW far forward in time it'll go!" Elroy cautiously exclaimed. "Besides, I'm sure there are several ethical moral dilemmas such an experiment could result in, like..."

"To HECK with that ethical moral mumbo-jumbo!" George impatiently interrupted. "My future CAREER is on the line here! Set all coordinates for the year 3000, and don't spare the space horsepower!"

"Right away, Dad!" Elroy sighed, rolling his eyes, as his father got in position.

"Good luck, George, and Godspeed!" Jane called out to him.

"'Re'll 'riss 'rou, 'rold 'ral!" Astro sobbed.

"Don't screw up like you always do, Mr. J.!" Rosey announced.

And so, Elroy adjusted the dials for the year 3000 and pushed the "START" button, and, slowly, George began to fade away…

…then, just as slowly, he began to resurface in a bustling Metropolis overpopulated with robots, humans, and all manner of flying gadgetry ever envisioned.

"Wow, New New York!" George exclaimed. "Just like I pictured it, with skyscrapers and ev…" But, just then, he got cut-off in mid-sentence by a rude Hover-Taxi driver, who honked his horn at him.

"Why don't you watch where you're GOING, you freakin' maniac?" the cabbie rudely shouted at George. "If you're looking to end your life, there's a Suicide Booth on the corner of Elm and Main!" He then gave him the finger and left.

"Well!" George exclaimed. "So far, this place is NOTHING like quaint old Orbit City!"

At this point, George attempted to get his bearings straight. He pulled out a map of the city to find what was then the future site of Planet Express, but to no avail.

"This map is hopelessly dated!" moaned George. At that exact moment, however, he happened upon a building with the words APPLIED CRYOGENICS in its title.

"Maybe THESE guys can help me find the place!" George beamed. And, with that, he happily entered, unaware of what Fate had in store for him.

George approached some cryogenic tubes and sarcastically commented, "I'm glad I'm not one of THOSE guys! Spacely gets on my case for sleeping just a few MINUTES out of a day! Imagine how he'd react to a THOUSAND years' slumber!" Just then, George was approached by two lab technicians in white coats, one of whom greeted him with a draping of his sleeve over his shoulder, a la Count Dracula, and an eerie voice that went, "WELCOME TO THE WORRRLLLD OF TOMORROWWW!"

"Hey, Buddy, don't startle me like that!" George snapped at him.

"Who are you to tell us how to do our jobs?" the second technician asked.

"Sorry," George apologized. "It's just that I've had quite a bit of a trip, and…"

"We understand, Sir." The first technician said, cutting off George.

"You DO?" George asked with a hint of relief in his voice. "Because, see, I'm from a different TIME as well as a different PLACE, and…"

"Yes, well, exactly how many thousands of years have you been frozen?"

"FROZEN?" George asked astoundingly. "If you're implying I arrived via one of these tubes, you've got it all WRONG – I arrived via my son's Time Machine from the year 2962 A.D.!"

The two men looked at each other as if to assume that George was suffering from some sort of mild dementia, but tried their best to humor him. "Okay, Marty McFly," one of them said, "just strip naked and get on the Probulator!"

"STRIP? PROBULATOR?" George asked in astonishment.

And, the next thing he knew, poor, innocent George Jetson had been totally bereft of his clothing, strapped to a medical table, and poked and prodded with every known instrument in the book! "Ee-YOWWWWWWWWWW! This is NOTHING like my Annual Company Physical! I'll bet it's not even covered by my HMO! This is more like one of those Alien Probings on the Late, Late Movie on the Sci-Fi Channel!"

Having undergone what he THOUGHT was enough physical torture, George wasn't QUITE prepared for the WORST – yet. "Okay, Mr. Jetson," the technician said, "now, all we need to do is find out what career you're best SUITED for! If you'll just hold out your palm so we can insert your Career Chip, you'll be on your way!"

George did as was instructed, and got severely pinched with a pair of tongs. "Could this day possibly get any worse?" he wailed.

They projected his career choice via a computer slide. It read: "Career: DELIVERY BOY", as did a certain Philip J. Fry's when HE arrived at this exact same point in time at this exact same location. "Delivery Boy? What a remarkable coincidence!" George happily exclaimed. "That's JUST the sort of career I'm considering applying for! Could you PLEASE direct me to the Planet Express Delivery Headquarters?"

"We'll do BETTER than THAT!" the second technician offered. "We'll hail a Hover-Taxi to SEND you there!"

"Hover-Taxi?" George asked nervously. And, as one of them whistled, the exact SAME Hover-Taxi that nearly ran over George earlier pulled over. "Not again!" George sobbed.

"Planet Express Delivery Headquarters, please, and STEP ON IT!" the technicians exclaimed in unison whist tipping him a five.

As the cabbie sped off with George in tow, he sarcastically reminded him, "Look, Pal, if I was YOU, I'd stick with finding a nearby Suicide Booth, 'cause you know what the odds are of anyone finding a high-paying career at Planet Express? About a billion to one!" He then gave George the finger again.

"Ooba-Dooba, I feel faint!" George said queasily.

Meanwhile, at the Planet Express Delivery Headquarters itself, Philip J. Fry (Yes, the exact same Philip J. Fry I alluded to earlier) was getting quite the lecture from his Great-Great-Great-Great-Great, etc. Nephew, Professor Hubert Farnsworth, as well as resident bureaucrat Hermes Conrad.

"Fry, you half-witted moron, what on earth were you THINKING shipping penguin eggs to Canada?"

"You said to deliver them up North!"

"No, mon, he meant the North POLE! That error will cost you thousands in punitive damages!"

"THOUSANDS? Good LORD, we're not made of MONEY here!" the Professor angrily exclaimed. Just then, he called an "Emergency Meeting" of his most "gifted" employees.

"Good news, everyone!" he announced. "Due to a delivery snafu, in order for our company to survive financially, we are going to have to let go our least gifted employee of all!"

"Tough luck, Zoidberg, ol' pal!" Bender the robot sarcastically chuckled to the lobster-like company physician.

"Eh, I had a good run!" he calmly exclaimed.

"I'm talking about someone related to me, Bender!" the Professor corrected him.

At that point, he turned to the Professor's clone, Cubert, patted him on the shoulder condescendingly, and said, "We'll miss ya' ol' pal!" then silently coughed "NOT!" ro himself.

Just then, the company's ship captain, one-eyed Turanga Leela, spoke up. "Bender, I think the Professor means Fry!"

This came as a shock to the red-headed slacker teen. "ME?" he asked, enraged. "But I'm the company's most valuable asset! I've been working here for YEARS!"

"Actually, just A year!" Leela corrected him.

"Yes, and you've been bellyaching about it ever since!" the Professor grumbled.

"Well, so long, Meatbag!" Bender said, putting his metallic arm around his human friend's shoulder. "Don't let the door hit your ass on the way out!"

Disgruntled Fry wasn't about to let this unemployment thing discourage him, however. "You just wait, you losers!" he exclaimed confidently. "I'll get a much BETTER job than this! Just you wait and see!"

"Not bloody likely!" Bender remarked in his cockney accent.

Just then, as Fry was leaving his now-former place of employment, the Hover-Taxi with George in tow pulled up.

"Don't I get a tip?" the cabbie asked him as he was leaving.

"Yeah, and HERE IT IS – Don't EVER pick me up again! From now on, I'm taking the Hover-Subway!"

"It's your health!" the cabbie quipped as he hovered away.

"Wow, George Jetson, is it REALLY you?" Fry asked upon noticing him step off of the cab.

"You KNOW me?" George asked Fry in a surprised tone of voice.

"KNOW you? Are you KIDDING? Back when I was a kid, your TV Show was almost EXACTLY how I envisioned the future!"

"You must be mistaken, Son!" George modestly exclaimed. "The ONLY TV Show I'VE ever been on was a guest spot on 'The Jet Screamer Show'! And that was many YEARS ago!"

"Uh-huh!" Fry gleefully exclaimed. "So, what exactly brings you here to New New York?"

"I'm looking for an opening at Planet Express!"

"REALLY?" Fry asked astonishingly. "You want a job HERE? But WHY? Aren't you gainfully employed at Spacely Space-Age Sprockets, Inc.?"

"Not anymore; Mr. Spacely FIRED me – AGAIN!"

"Ooooooohhhhh, that midget OGRE of a Boss of yours!" Fry angrily exclaimed, punching his fists together. "I've often DREAMED of the day you'd tear him a NEW one!"

"Tear him a new WHAT, exactly, Son?" George asked out of confusion. "And what does that MEAN?"

"Oh, I forgot, you're not FROM around here, ARE you?" Fry asked inquisitively. "Well, you'll find out!" He then put his hand on George's shoulder and wished him, "Good luck with the job interview – you'll NEED it!"

As Fry left, all George could do was say out loud to himself, "'Tear him a new one' – darn those crazy Space-Agers and their constantly-changing slang!"

Just then, George entered the Planet Express building to apply for his new career. But, because of his red hair, the Professor mistook him for Fry. "CONFOUND it, Fry!" he exclaimed in outrage. "What are you DOING back here? I just FIRED you!"

"Yeah, Meatbag, and what's with the nose job?" Bender asked. "The cucumber look is SO 2986 A.D.!"

"Guys, that's not Fry!" Amy Wong, the Mars University graduate pointed out. "I think that's supposed to be George Jetson!"

"Who now?" the Professor asked absent-mindedly.

"You know, from 'The Jetsons'! GLUH! Get with the program, Professor!"

George looked at the crew rather quizzically. "Why is it that everyone here knows me? Did I do something in the past that made me FAMOUS?"

"Well, you've lost your regular job on numerous occasions!" Leela was quickest to point out. "I guess that accounts for SOMEthing!"

"And what did that red-headed boy who just LEFT here mean about me having a TV Show?" George wondered as he scratched his head in further puzzlement. "I'm no celebrity!"

"Oh, Your God!" Bender whispered to the rest of the crew. "It's even WORSE than I thought – he's suffering from AMNESIA!" At that exact same point, he produced a huge mallet from behind the door of his shiny metal chest and proclaimed, "Well, there's only ONE sure cure for THAT!"

"BENDER! NO!" Leela shouted, and, with that, everybody dog-piled on him to keep him at bay.

"I REPEAT, this is NOTHING like quaint old Orbit City!" George moaned, then sighed, "Oh, well, might as well get the job interview done and OVER with!"

END CHAPTER TWO

TO BE CARTOONUED…

Up next: George assists the Planet Express crew with deliveries to places he'd NEVER imagined existed before! You'll REALLY be in for a Laugh Riot THIS time around, I GUARANTEE IT!

Chapter 3

"Hello, Everybody," George said, tugging his shirt collar nervously. "I'm here to apply for the position of Delivery Boy…"

"Welcome aboard, Mr. Jefferson!" the Professor happily exclaimed, shaking his hand.

"That's JETSON, Sir – " Just then, George did a classic Hanna-Barbera style double-take. "Welcome ABOARD? You mean I got the job, just like THAT?"

"Hey, Meatbag, It's NOT like you're applying for Bodyguard to the President's head in a jar!" Bender sarcastically reminded him.

"Does your robot call EVERYBODY 'Meatbag'?" George whispered curiously to the Professor. "Because, in MY day, robot servants were programmed to RESPECT their masters and mistresses!"

"Oh, respect, schmespect, Mr. Jefferson!" the Professor informed him. "After ALL, what ELSE do you EXPECT from a robot that's fueled by ALCOHOL?"

"ALCOHOL? Now I've heard EVERYTHING!" George exclaimed in a rather sarcastic tone of voice. "And, I keep TELLING you, my name is JETSON, NOT Jefferson!"

"Sure, whatever," the Professor replied rather dismissively. "Give my regards to your lovely wife, Weezy!"

"Who?" George asked out of misunderstanding. (This, of course, prompted Bender to sing the "Jeffersons" theme, "Movin' On Up", whilst breaking into dance.)

So, as George boarded the Planet Express ship with a bunch of heavy packages in hand, Captain Leela gave him the exact coordinates of where to drop them off:

1.) Giant antacid pills for Mr. Huge Gelatinous Blob

As he stood outside Mr. Blob's house, George wondered to himself out loud, "Now what would an oversized blob need THESE big things for?" Suddenly, he got his answer when, from out of the front door of his house, Mr. Blob appeared and promptly swallowed George whole –

but his non-existent stomach didn't feel good.

Quickly, he took two of the giant antacids and then threw up George.

"Oh, well," George said out loud to himself once more. "Ask a silly question…"

Next on the delivery list…

2.) Loaded tommy-guns for the Robot Mafia (the latter who open fire on George, Bender, and Leela, thus prompting George's remark, "Some gratitude I get for delivering on time, undamaged, and under budget!", as they flee for their lives.)

And, last, but not least…

3.) One million human souls to the Robot Devil.

"R-r-robot DEVIL?" George stammered in panic. "I'll be honest with you, Ms. Leela, I don't like where this is GOING!"

"NOBODY likes it, Mr. Jetson!" she sternly informed him. "But, as I was so aptly reminded at my previous job at Applied Cryogenics, "You Gotta Do What You Gotta Do!""

"Applied Cryogenics? What a coincidence!" George beamed. "I was there earlier to – " at which point Bender rudely cut him off and quipped, "Hey, Meatbag, we didn't ask for your life story! Now just get out there and DELIVER THE FREAKIN' PACKAGE ALREADY!"

Bender then rudely gave George the bum's rush to the door as the latter screamed like a girl.

"BENDER!" Leela snapped at him.

"Hey, the schmoe DESERVED it, gettin' all 25th Century on me and all!"

George painfully landed deep within the bowels of Robot Hell. Upon doing so, he cleverly remarked, "Reminds me of the time I had to help Jane clean out the attic!"

Suddenly, the Robot Devil appeared before George. "Why, GEORGE JETSON, what a PLEASANT SURPRISE!" he boldly exclaimed. "What brings YOU here?"

"I – I'm here to make a delivery…" George nervously quivered.

"Well, let's open it up and have a LOOK, SHALL we?" the Robot Devil gleefully queried.

He pried the package open with a crowbar, but, instead of containing a million human souls, it contained an I.O.U. for them.

"Oh, DRAT!" the Robot Devil said, snapping his fingers in disgust.

"Well, Mr. Devil, Sir, seeing how I failed to meet my quota, I suppose you'll let me GO now!" George nervously said.

"Let you GO?" he asked impatiently. "Au CONTRAIRE, Jetson, my friend, I just SO happen to have a cabana with YOUR name on it!"

"ME?" George asked out of astonishment. "But I haven't sinned, EVER! I'm a good husband, father, and provider!"

"Yes, Mr. Jetson, you are indeed ALL those things," the Robot Devil remarked, greedily rubbing his fingers, "but you don't qualify as an honest, hard-working schmoe!"

"What, are you in cahoots with my boss back at the Sprocket Plant?" George asked. "I always suspected Spacely of having ties to the underworld, but this is RIDICULOUS!"

"Actually, Mr. Jetson," the Robot Devil less than regretted to inform him, "I have Internet access to your company's business records!"

"Ooba-Dooba!" George frightfully exclaimed, then hastily remarked, "Um, listen, I'd love to help you out, but, uh, I have a CAKE burning in the oven!" Then, as he tried to make a mad dash for the Planet Express ship, before he knew it, his feet were weighed down with 1,000-ton weights, and he was running on a treadmill as the Robot Devil snickered, "I'm afraid you'll find escape somewhat IMPOSSIBLE, Mr. Jetson!"

"JANE! HELP! STOP THIS CRAZY THING! JANE! HELP!" George yelled somewhat out of habit.

Meanwhile, on board the ship, Leela saw the whole thing through her one-eyed binocular, then turned to Bender and ordered him, "Well, don't just STAND there, you dummy – DELIVER MR. JETSON FROM EVIL!"

"Damnit, Leela," Bender quipped, "I'm a BENDING UNIT, NOT a DOCTOR!"

Leela rolled her eye and paid Bender ten dollars.

Promptly, Bender got out of the ship, stretched his arms, and rescued George. Just then, they both re-boarded and took off.

Back at Planet Express HQ, Professor Farnsworth was outraged at George's failure to deliver souls to the Robot Devil. "I won't STAND for such nincompoopery!" he shouted, banging his fist on the table. "JEFFERSON, YOU'RE FIRED!"

"Now, where have I heard THAT line before?" George asked himself. "Only, it was JETSON, NOT Jefferson!"

Following an abrupt ejection from the Professor's office via trap-door, George quickly dialed his family via two-way wrist TV phone. "Elroy, you got that Time Machine up and running?" he asked. "I've got to go and beg my boss to give me my old job back!"

"It's all juiced up, Dad!" Elroy exclaimed back home. "Stand by for transport back home to good old 2962 A.D.! Ten… Nine…"

George slowly began to fade away.

Back at Spacely Sprockets, however, things weren't quite what George had expected.

"Sorry, Jetson, I can't hire you back; I've ALREADY given your job to someone else!" Mr. Spacely adamantly replied.

"But WHO could you POSSIBLY get to replace me, Sir?" George wondered.

Just then, a familiar, red-haired, red-jacketed figure stood before George and asked him, "What up?"

"Meet Philip J. Fry. Nice lad. Claims to have come from somewhere in 3000 A.D. – just try to HUMOR him a little!"

"HIM? You want HIM to work the Assembly Line?" George asked out of anger.

"No need to fret, Jetson," Spacely cheerily informed him. "You can still make DELIVERIES for us!"

"DELIVERIES? Where to?"

Spacely handed him a list of customers, which read as follows:

HUGE GELATINOUS BLOB

ROBOT MAFIA

ROBOT DEVIL

"Oh, NO!" George exclaimed. "Here we go AGAIN!" Then he fainted dead away.

The iris-out closes on George.

THE END


End file.
